


Detention

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Nipple Clamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Percy violates the no-work-on-Sunday house rule.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: An old entry for Daily Deviant I’d forgotten to post. This isn’t properly British.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

He spent a good deal of time just sitting in the chair across from the sofa, fondling himself with widespread legs, but then he got bored and hungry. Now he sits at the kitchen table, finishing up his cereal. It’s a lonely lunch, but there’s no point making anything substantial when it’s obvious Percy’s not going to join him. Oliver’s eyes are still trained on Percy, sitting rigid over on that offending sofa. Oliver can just barely see the high stack of parchment balanced on the coffee table over the sofa’s back, and he knows there’s an open file in Percy’s lap and a quill in Percy’s hand. 

Percy fidgets every so often. Occasionally, he glances back, as though he can _feel_ Oliver staring him down. But he always turns away again, stubbornly determined. He’s broken their newest house rule: no work or Quidditch on Sundays. It’s supposed to be _their_ time, and whoever violates that is subject to the other person’s whims until they stop.

Oliver already tried to lure Percy back. Percy started after breakfast at his desk, but it’s the perfect height for Oliver to crawl under, and Oliver blew Percy so hard he needed to stop halfway through for a Silencing spell, lest the neighbours put in another complaint for the noise. But Percy went right back to working after, in the living room, where the sofa’s cushions are lower to the ground and more difficult for Oliver to position right. He hasn’t got the patience to cockwarm Percy until Percy gives up anyway. He thought about just fucking Percy through it, but he’s got an ever shorter fuse with that, and Percy would likely go along with it just to leave him spent after, too satiated to whine. So instead he just sits at the table and alternates between loving looks and glares, getting a spark of satisfaction up his spine every time Percy squirms uncomfortably. Oliver let him keep his clothes on just because it’s cold this time of year and any more heating charms would leave the air too dry. But his shirt’s indented with the two little tents of the clamps Oliver’s fixed to his nipples, just a little too tight to sit well. 

Percy doesn’t complain. He has a safeword he could use but doesn’t; he’s likely still playing the game because he knows if Oliver does this next week, it’d be all the same annoyance. Unfortunately, seeing Percy punished doesn’t really make up for the time they could be spending going out together, or cuddling up in bed, watching a movie, reading a book, or just _enjoying each other._ Percy works _so hard_ all the time, and eventually, looking at him just isn’t enough. 

Without bothering to put away the remnants of his cereal, Oliver shoves back his chair and wanders closer to the couch, already noting the tension that comes into Percy’s shoulders. He knows what’s coming. But he continues his careful scrawl anyway, only pausing when Oliver’s weight pushes down the cushions. 

Oliver isn’t overtly cruel. He doesn’t ruin Percy’s work and toss his legs over Percy’s lap like he wants to. He just curls up to Percy’s side, splays a hand against Percy’s chest, rubs a small circle around one breast, and finally latches onto the metal clamp straining against the white cotton. He tugs it, relishes in Percy’s sudden gasp, and leans into Percy’s ear to murmur, “You’re being very, very naughty, going this long.”

Percy deliberately doesn’t look at Oliver. His lashes lower, his teeth gritting. He pushes his glasses higher up his nose and grunts, “These really must be finished by Monday.”

Oliver doesn’t bother saying that Percy should’ve done them on Saturday, or could just do them Monday morning—he always gets up absurdly early anyway. Instead, Oliver slowly twists the clamp, drinking in the delicious way that Percy’s brows knit together, his lips parting but unwilling to make a sound. Oliver presses a kiss to his cheek, then licks a messy trail up to Percy’s ear and growls, “This is supposed to be _our_ day.”

Percy moans, “I’m sorry,” but evidently not enough, because he licks his lips and pleads, “But if you took them off, I could work much faster.”

Oliver makes his way to the other nipple and twists it the same way, not too much, just enough to make Percy _writhe_. He purrs, “You didn’t show me any mercy when I wanted to watch a game last month...” And that was only a two-hour long match. Percy wrinkles his nose; they both know he’ll be just as harsh the next time Oliver fails him. 

He still sucks in a deep breath, opens his eyes, looks at Oliver with that familiar Gryffindor fire, and asks, “What do I have to do to get these off so I can get some work done?” Oliver tweaks one just for the question, and Percy winces but holds strong. 

Reaching a bit higher, Oliver starts to rub just above them while he thinks, the heel of his palm and little finger slightly weighing them down on each pass. Percy’s breathing hard, his lithe chest rising and falling far, and it makes Oliver wonder why he’s kind enough to leave Percy’s clothes on. Just thinking of Percy’s little pink nipples clamped tight in unforgiving metal gets him hard, but so do most things with Percy. He gives Percy’s jaw another open-mouthed kiss before musing, “I could always put them on your cock instead...”

Percy grimaces. Then he shakes his head and pushes against Oliver’s hand, bending forward to move his file and quill to the coffee table, amidst the neatly organized makeshift desk he’s set up. When he settles back into place, he turns to Oliver, then lifts up onto his knees and climbs right into Oliver’s lap. The sudden weight pushes Oliver back, and his hands drop instinctively to Percy’s hips, holding him there. With his thighs spread enticingly around Oliver’s crotch, Percy lifts his shirt, hiking it up over his clamps to show off his pinched buds, reddened and hard. He’s always more clever than Oliver gives him credit for. Even though Oliver knows he’s about to be seduced into leniency, he can’t do a thing to stop it. 

Leaning in so close that Oliver can _feel_ his breath and the metal on his chest, Percy purrs, “If you let me finish this last file without these irritating things or you sitting there looking so irresistible, I’ll crawl to you after on my hands and knees, lick your Puddlemere boots and give you the best sex you’ve had since my last promotion.”

If Percy’s offering to just do _one_ file, he must be desperate. Oliver can see that. Mostly out of love and a lot out of lust, Oliver nods, earning a kiss full of tongue in reward. Then Percy’s pulling back too soon and arching forward. Oliver gets the hint and begrudgingly releases each clamp, somehow resisting licking the engorged buds after. Percy rolls down his shirt like nothing happened. He probably has a spell all lined up to stop the chafing, because he has everything. He crawls out of Oliver’s lap and gives Oliver a pointed look, until Oliver sighs and gets to his feet. 

He pockets the clamps as he leaves, announcing, “But I’m keeping these for next time.”


End file.
